


Behind the F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S (don't mess with Wardrobe)

by SoupShue



Series: F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S-ITY [2]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Incredibles (2004)
Genre: Gen, If you piss of Edna Mode, be prepared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupShue/pseuds/SoupShue
Summary: Thank you Jaune_Chat for this plot bunny I didn't need in my life or my brain right now, thank you so much.





	1. Call in the Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaune_Chat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/457777) by [Jaune_Chat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat). 



> Thank you Jaune_Chat for this plot bunny I didn't need in my life or my brain right now, thank you so much.

Harold took one look at the sketch that Tim and Edna were quietly cackling over and whimpered very softly. It was a hobo suit, a very eye-catching, retina burning, hobo suit upon which a particularly seasick oompa-loompa may or may not have vomited. Fury was going to murder them, give them to S.T.R.I.K.E for target practice, then surrender their corpses to the recesses of the BIO department. “Grace, call Coulson, remind him that he owes us for that epic disaster at the Spring fashion week, get him down here NOW, and swear him to secrecy, Jay, call Pepper, ask her if we can possibly hide out in the Tower for a bit without anyone telling the Director, he’s going to be in an absolute PET. If she waffles, tempt her with the cherry red patent leather convertible pumps in the “kiss you, kill you” aisle- you know the ones, I was saving those for a special occasion, but it looks like we might need them now. I’m calling the Widow.” Harold crossed himself and swallowed convulsively as he fished out the little silver burn phone Natasha had given them after their brilliant win at the Undergrounds, they were going to need all of the favors. All. Of. The Favors.  

Jay scurried off into the recesses of the work area, past the racks of unfinished leotards, unitards, skinsuits, and tutus bedecked with strings of crystals and rows and rows and rows of sequins…it was New York after all, one never knew when an agent might end up having to become an unintentional understudy in any number of productions. Not to mention that Vera was an absolute genie with tulle and taffeta and had quite a lucrative side business selling the less lethal versions of ensembles to Ballet companies and production houses all over the world. Jason- one of the lead costume managers at Cirque particularly went berserk over the flexy flex weave because it was soft, lightweight, breathable, wicking, extremely durable, could be hand dyed and painted with almost any stain or paint commercially available, and barely showed a wrinkle with movement. Every contortionist and hand balancer in Cirque wore flexy flex now, Vera was very proud of that fact.

Vera was dead to the world, critically eyeing each component of Edna’s brilliant sketch and meticulously cutting out paper patterns for her first muslin. Ruler, marking chalk, and mats guiding the nimble hands laying down feathery blue lines precisely mapping out seam allowances, darts, hidden pockets, and rip-and-stitch lines onto her first draft fabric. It was going to be an absolutely stunning suit set when it was finished- high fashion, corporate appropriate, bullet resistant, and able to carry the full arsenal assigned to any S.T.R.I.K.E. commander (including up to an extra six grenades) without any unseemly bulging or puckering that would betray a hidden weapon (or sixteen, but who was counting?). If they weren’t all dead or wishing they were by morning that was.

“Please, dear God and all the Fashion saints, let us not be dead by morning, please!” Harold muttered as the phone rang, he was holding it between ear and shoulder as he fished out an absolutely awful box of nylon/cotton blend thread that they only used in emergencies, partly because why waste the good thread with the ability to be woven into the equivalent of Paracord on a suit that Fury was potentially going to shoot from a rocket into the sun, and partly because Edna Mode and Tim Gunn MEANT it when they said they were making a hobo suit.

“Hello.” Harold jumped reflexively at the tone in her voice when she answered. That silky voice was terse and cold, oozing something that just _screamed_ ‘I am deadly, I know wet work, I could kill you right now’ that was definitely the Widow, and she scared him, even over the phone.  

“Help.” Harold squeaked, trembling even as he brought the fashion giants their selection of orange and red thread and helped Jay oil and ready the internal workings of their machines.


	2. Widow

Natasha was executing a very complex yoga maneuver when the sleek silver phone in her hip holster chirped. One eyebrow climbed to disappear into her hairline as she reached and removed it, still looking for all the world like a cross between a badly sculpted clay piece and a pretzel- she pinned the phone between he hear and her hip. If Hawkeye was calling her because he'd gotten drunk and stupid at a bar with a dartboard again she was going to make sure nobody EVER found the body. 

"hello."

"HELP!" Came a terrified breathy squeak. There was muted cackling and mechanical noises in the background. The other eyebrow rose. Looked like that was the end of her workout today. It wasn't Stark, because JARVIS would just announce a lab cackle over the loudspeakers after he called Pepper and Rhodes. That left F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. Which honestly worried her more. Stark was containable...  

 

"Tell me everything."  A torrent of half spoken half screeched babble poured over the line, she jerked the phone away from her ear before hissing in to the microphone. 

"SLOWLY. IN. ENGLISH. NOW!" There was an abrupt gasping choking gurgle before a struggle for the phone, before....wait was that Tim Gunn in the background?!?! She glared up at the ceiling until one of the cameras glinted blue-green in acknowledgement.

"I want a daytime pass to the BEST massage parlor after this JARVIS, Stark is going to want in on this, I can already tell...." 

"Noted Miss Romanov, I have taken the liberty of arranging a transport to headquarters for you and alerting Mister Barton." She smiled. It was not a nice smile. 

 

"I love it when you plot with me JARVIS, you are so  _beautifully efficient_ are you SURE I can't tempt you to help me with a slightly...larger endeavor?" 

 

His wit was absolutely dry when he quipped.

"I'm afraid the position for terrifyingly competent redhead has already been filled, if you would like I will send you an application for terrifyingly competent second-in-command for review at a later date and time, however I believe there is a more urgent matter awaiting your particular brand of terrifying competence." 

"The things you say to me JARVIS..." 

"CHARLOTTE STOP SEDUCING MY SON!"  


End file.
